#tommy's treehouse

[sillystrawbtism]

Hahahaha holy SHIT i am so mentally unwell chat it's not even funny. I want to be normal. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be HERE. I just want someone I can rely on, I've never had that. What's worse is every source memory I have is based directly on the bodies trauma, right down to exile so I'm still affected by it. I hate this I just want a family and people who care about me because it certainly doesn't feel like it. I want him back but I can't even if I know he still loves me.

-Tommy💿

[morganbritton132]

The worst thing Steve ever did as a dumb little child was tell Hopper that he pretends to cry to get what he wants.

He doesn’t even remember that conversation but years later when he’s thirteen and three beers deep at a high school party, he is rudely reminded of it.

It’s unfortunate that Steve only learns about the police breaking up the party when he makes eye contact with Hopper. It’s even worse when he gets marched out with the other underaged drinkers and then separated from them.

He lets his eyes get big and watery since it’s just him and Powell. His bottom lip trembles. His voice breaks in just the right spot and - a hand snaps their fingers in front of his face and Hopper says, “Can the fake tears, Harrington. They ain’t working here. Get in the truck.”

“But…” how do you know they’re fake dies on Steve’s lips when Hopper glares at him. It’s embarrassing that it doesn’t work and it’s embarrassing that he’s the only one going with Hopper.

Mandy is fifteen and she’s gonna think he’s a total loser now. He tells Hopper this when he finally gets in the truck an hour later, “She - everybody is gonna think I snitched! You’re ruining my life!”

Hopper tells him that he doesn’t care and then asks, “You been drinking?”

“Have you been stupid?” Steve mocks back, kicking the back of his seat. He wasn’t even allowed to sit upfront. “Yes, you have ‘cause you’re stupid. And you suck.”

“Watch it, kid.”

“I’m not a kid!” Steve snaps, kicking his seat again, and again, and again. “I’m going to be a loser forever now and ‘m pro’ably gonna get beat up in jail, and it’s gonna be. All. Your. Fault.”

Hopper slams on the breaks, nearly crashing Steve into the back of his seat. He turns around, “You’re not going to jail. You’re going home because I’m going easy on you. Now shut up, sit there, and be grateful I’m not hauling your ass into the station like your little friends.”

That’s so much worse, Steve thinks. They’re definitely going to think he snitched. He’s never going to be invited to another party for the rest of his life after this. His high school social life is gonna die before he even gets there.

Steve cannot spend all of high school being known as the guy that’s friends with cops. He needs to be at that station. He needs -

He doesn’t even think twice about it.

Hopper’s fingers are curled around the edge of the seat. Steve sends his foot forward, smashing into them. He grinds the heel of his sneaker until Hopper starts swearing.

He swears, and swears louder, and then declares, “You can spend the rest of the night with your friends.”

Good.

Not good, Steve thinks only after they pull into the station’s parking lot. His parents are going to kill him. They’re going to kill him and then reanimate him, and then kill him again. They’re not even home right now to call anyways. Jesus.

He doesn’t have anyone to call.

Hopper drags him into the crowded station and drops him into the chair next to Callahan’s desk. He says, “Book him for underage drinking and resisting arrest.”

Steve vaguely hopes everybody heard that but also, he needs to get out of here. He makes another split second decision and blurts out, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Callahan doesn’t look up from the new form he has when he says, “Later.”

“I can’t hold it,” Steve says, voice cracking. He gives Callahan big watery eyes when he looks up. He sounds generally pathetic when he adds, “Think ‘m gonna be sick.”

“I- okay. Go. Go! Don’t throw up here.” Callahan waves off. “Bathroom is down the hall.”

Good to know that still works on some people, Steve thinks as he books it down the hall. He goes past the holding cell, past the bathroom, and right out the back exit.

Then he runs.

He gets called ‘Jailbreak’ by the older kids for a while before he gets to high school and they give him a new nickname.

[eddiegettingshot]

literally typing out my fifth or sixth post about how the breakup makes total sense if you actually pay attention and then deleting it because i cannot keep being a tommywarrior and a timwarrior like this

[lmanburgseulogy]

do you think they had a treehouse in l’manburg :(

[h4rkonn3n]

Meeting Sarah.

soft!joel x f!reader

Summary: After months of dating, Joel finally introduced her to Sarah.

a/n: No outbreak, just fluff and all that ig

Joel Miller didn’t believe in second chances.

Not when it came to love.

After Sarah’s mother left them in the quiet shadow of dawn—nothing but a folded note on the kitchen table—Joel never let another woman close. He told himself he was too busy raising Sarah, working long hours with Tommy, fixing roofs, pouring concrete, hauling lumber.

Who would want a man with a kid anyway?

But then came her.

She wasn’t like the others he’d met in passing over the years. She didn’t mind the quiet way Joel spoke, or the tired circles under his eyes. She didn’t fill silences with needless chatter. Instead, she’d sit beside him on the porch swing, sipping sweet tea and watching the Texas sun bleed orange into the sky.

Joel waited three months before even thinking of introducing her to Sarah.

Because if Sarah didn’t like her—well, then she would be gone. Simple as that.

Tonight was the night.

Joel smoothed his hands over his jeans, feeling sweat gather at the small of his back. She stood beside him on the porch, looking calm, but he knew her heart was racing too.

“Relax,” Tommy muttered behind him, giving Joel a small nudge. “You look like you’re about to face a firing squad.”

Joel shot him a glare. “Not helpin’, Tommy.”

The woman smiled gently. “It’s okay, Joel. I’m ready.”

He swallowed thickly. He hoped Sarah was.

The screen door creaked open.

There she was. Sarah Miller, eleven years old, wild curls pulled into a loose ponytail, wearing those worn-over jeans she refused to part with.

Her big brown eyes flicked from her daddy to the woman standing next to him. Then to Tommy, who gave her a little wink.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel said softly, introducing the woman to his daughter.

Sarah crossed her arms, her small mouth pursing in suspicion. Joel felt his gut twist.

The woman squatted down to Sarah’s level. “Hey, Sarah. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Sarah cocked her head. “Like what?”

The older woman chuckled. “That you beat your dad at guitar all the time. And that you made him build a treehouse all by himself… with no instructions.”

Tommy snorted from behind them. Joel shot him another glare.

Sarah’s eyes softened. “He did mess up the ladder the first time.”

She laughed gently. “Yeah, he told me that too.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, feeling foolish.

Sarah stepped closer, inspecting the woman as if trying to solve a quiet puzzle. Then:

“Do you like dinosaurs?”

Joel blinked. Where the hell did that come from?

The woman didn’t miss a beat. “Love ‘em. Velociraptors are the coolest. But… I’d probably pick a triceratops if I had to ride one.”

Sarah smiled. “Wrong answer. It’s totally the T. rex.”

She gasped in mock horror. “No way. Too clumsy.”

Sarah giggled. Joel felt the knot in his chest start to loosen.

Tommy clapped him on the back. “Looks like she passed, brother.”

Joel allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Yeah… looks like she did.”

The woman stood, glancing at him with a quiet warmth in her eyes. Sarah slipped her small hand into hers without a word and tugged her toward the living room.

“C’mon,” Sarah said. “I’ll show you my dino collection. You can learn which ones are best.”

The woman winked over her shoulder at Joel as she was led away.

He followed quietly, standing in the doorway as Sarah dragged her battered shoebox from under the couch. The one with the plastic dinosaurs, scratched and faded, treasures from birthdays and thrift stores. She didn’t even let Tommy touch that box.

But now she flipped the lid open for her daddy’s girlfriend without hesitation.

“This is Spike,” Sarah said, holding up a stegosaurus missing its tail. “And that’s Chomper. He’s the mean T. rex. He eats everybody.”

She took the toy, turning it gently in her hands. “I didn’t have many dinos when I was your age. But I had this old toy horse. Broke its leg once, but I kept fixing it with tape. Couldn’t throw it away.”

Sarah beamed. “You get it.”

Joel leaned against the doorframe, the knot in his chest finally coming undone. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The woman sat cross-legged on the floor beside Sarah, asking the right questions, listening like every answer mattered.

For the first time in years, the house didn’t feel so quiet. It felt warm. Full.

Sarah pressed close to the woman’s side without even thinking, chattering about raptors and stegosaur tails. She grinned, holding up each dino as if it were some rare museum find.

Joel settled onto the arm of the couch, sipping his cold coffee, just watching.

Tommy caught his eye from the kitchen and raised a brow.

“Guess you are allowed a second chance after all,” Tommy said, soft enough only Joel could hear.

Joel smiled—small, real.

“Maybe I am,” he murmured.

And for once, that felt like the truth.

Masterlist

[birdboybuckley]

thinking about sugar daddy tommy again.

buck and tommy are married and are looking to start a family. so they look for a bigger house. where they live now is enough, but not big enough for a growing family. they search and search but they cannot find anywhere. the house either have a kitchen too small, not enough bedrooms, tiny garden. buck is getting incredibly frustrated because he wants to be a dad, he wants to start a family with tommy.

so tommy thinks fuck it.

he buys the biggest plot of land he can find that’s close enough to both of their stations. he builds buck a house from the ground up, kitchen big enough any professional chef would be jealous, six bedrooms and five bathrooms, garden with a pool, built in pizza oven and bbq, treehouse, climbing frame and swing. the works.

they have babies and adopt dogs and celebrate every holiday, the walls are covered with pictures of their family, memories are in every corner of the house.

in tommy’s eyes it’s money well spent.

[diazsdimples]

bucktommy + single dads au

🥺🥺 I love dad aus okay here we go

Buck is the father to 3 year old Lacey and Tommy is father to 5 year old Jacob. They meet each other at a LAFD Christmas party after Eddie and Christopher drag Buck along, and Jacob and Lacey both make a beeline for the ball pit. Buck sees Tommy standing at the edge, watching son with a mixture of fondness as the kid launches himself in repeatedly, and decides he wants to know everything about this guy. They strike up conversation.

Turns out Buck and Tommy have a lot in common, with both of them being single fathers trying to provide for their children on firefighters' salaries and no long term childcare plans. Neither Lacey nor Jacob have grandparents that are interested in their lives so they can't be relied on for childcare, and the daycare centres don't cover the night shifts Buck and Tommy need to do. They exchange numbers at the Christmas party and begin to talk a lot.

Buck has a brainwave a few weeks later (egged on by Eddie, who's no longer in need of Carla's services for Christopher) and he calls Tommy one day, suggesting that Carla could take care of Lacey and Jacob together, if Tommy drops Jacob at Buck and Lacey's house before his shifts. Lacey is very excited about having Jacob to stay, as she practically hero-worships the boy after having had a few playdates with him while Buck and Tommy chatted. Tommy is a little overwhelmed with the gesture and readily agrees.

Tommy begins to drop Jacob at Buck's house before his shifts and if Buck's home when he comes to pick him up, he and Tommy will let the kids play for a bit while they have a beer and relax and decompress about their shifts. Sometimes the kids will stay at Tommy's house if Buck has a shift and Tommy doesn't (which Lacey absolutely loves because he has a treehouse in his backyard). One evening after a particularly bad shift, Buck comes to pick up Lacey from Tommy's house and breaks down in tears - they'd lost a child on a call and it hit too close to home. Tommy distracts the kids quickly and then gathers Buck into his arms, holding him while he cries.

Their dynamic shifts after that, and they become much touchier with one another. Buck wants to be with Tommy but doesn't think Tommy likes him that way, until one day Buck explains to Tommy that Jacob had been upset about not being able to read properly, and Buck got Carla to collect some dyslexia resources for the boy and they'd been very helpful. He doesn't even get halfway through telling Tommy before the man is kissing him, fingers under his chin and hand on his hip. Tommy admits to having liked Buck and tentatively, they agree to give being in a relationship a go. Naturally the kids are absolutely delighted.

Send me a ship and an AU!!

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 18: Love is terrifying @starryeyedjanai

Steve Harrington grew up the traditional small town American way. A mother and father that married straight out of high school, his dad ran the family business while his mother stayed at home. The first 8 years of his life he can remember fondly his mother baking him cookies and play dates with Tommy.

His room was always decorated in blues then plaid, toys were action heroes and trucks. Climbing trees and mud and puddles were always encouraged as long as he cleaned up before coming inside. His hair kept short, pants and shirts always blue or red or brown.

He could only play with girly things if it was also with Carol. Dolls were princesses needing rescuing, not tea parties. Carol's lipstick and blush could be smeared on as warpaint for battle in their treehouse.

Sports and trophies won his father's affection. His dad never missed a game, cheering the loudest at every goal. Ruffled hair and good jobs a plenty.

When he was 8 though, Tommy kissed his cheek before riding his bike home. Steve didn't even think about it, his father kissed his mother's cheek goodbye, Carol always kissed their cheeks when they rescued her from the dragon, usually that weird boy, Steve thinks he's in the year above.

His mother grabbed his hand when he came inside, pulling him up to his room. She'd never grabbed him like that.

"Never let Tommy do that again, Steven, and never let your father hear about it."

It was as simple as that, no room for questions, no room to understand why his best friend couldn't kiss his cheek. No explanation as to why his dad couldn't know, no way to understand why he liked it.

His parents went away more often after that, his mother encouraged more trips, and usually followed him. He was told to be a man and look after himself. Tommy never kissed his cheek again.

Now Steve was older, and he knew why his mother gripped his arm so hard, why his dad could never know. Knew that weird boy had been kicked out of home for the same reason, Steve should count himself lucky.

Those butterflies weren't worth losing a roof over his head, or a disease, or the loss of everything he has.

Steve feels older than he is but right now he feels eight years old. Eddie Munson just kissed his cheek before driving home.

The butterflies he thought he'd killed long ago felt in the thousands. But he turned to see his parents car in the driveway, light on downstairs. He was terrified to move, when had they got home. What did they already know?

He'd faced monsters terrified, he could face this.

Steve was grown now and he wanted to tell 8, 15 and 19 year old him that it was worth being terrified if it meant he got to love the weird boy whose heart is as big as a dragon's.

[siratonin]

So, the prompt. Only if you vibe with it of course.

Just our guys in bed, lying together with the covers over their heads and talking. About childhood or some other topic you find interesting. The two of them in their perfect little bubble.

Thank you! This was so soft 😇

Beneath the cocoon of soft covers, the world was reduced to shadows and warm breaths. Buck lay on his side, one arm lazily draped across Tommy’s chest, his head propped on his hand. Tommy was sprawled on his back, staring up at the barely visible fabric ceiling above them, his skin warm and flushed from their recent exertions.

Buck shifted and leaned half on top of him, his lips pressed to Tommy’s collarbone, his hand resting against Tommy’s side.

“Evan,” Tommy murmured, his voice tinged with amusement, “are you planning on kissing me all night, or are you eventually going to let me breathe?”

Buck grinned against Tommy’s skin, trailing a series of soft, lazy kisses up his chest, then to the hollow of his throat. “Why would I stop when I’ve got you right where I want you?”

Tommy huffed softly, instead of answering, he tilted his head, his hands sliding up to frame Buck’s face pulling him, and leaned up, capturing Buck’s lips in a kiss of his own.

When Tommy pulled back, Buck’s grin had widened, and his cheeks were flushed. “See?” he said softly, brushing his thumb over Tommy’s jaw. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Tommy smiled fondly, his fingers lightly tracing Buck’s neck, the faint blush on his cheeks giving him away. “If this is a dream,” he murmured between soft, lingering kisses, “I never want to wake up.”

Buck let out a breathless laugh, his own cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “You are such an old sap,” He countered, punctuating his words with another kiss—this time to Tommy’s jawline. Then another, just beneath his ear, where he knew Tommy was most sensitive. Tommy squirmed slightly, his breath hitching, and Buck smiled against his skin.

Finally, Buck settled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand so he could face Tommy. His other hand lightly rested on Tommy’s chest, feeling each steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips. “And I love it,” he admitted ginning widely.

“You know,” Buck began, his voice hushed but filled with that familiar playful tone, “when I was a kid, Maddie and I used to build forts like this—well, not exactly like this. We used couch cushions and blankets, not...you know, like… this.”

Tommy chuckled, the sound vibrating under Buck’s arm. “I don’t think couch forts came with this kind of satisfaction.” He tilted his head toward Buck with a teasing smirk. “What’s the most impressive thing you ever built?”

Buck’s face lit up. “Oh, that’s easy. There was this one summer—Maddie and I tried to make a treehouse. Well, I tried to make a treehouse. She mostly just went along with it to keep me from doing something stupid, like trying to climb the tree with a hammer and nails in my hand.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Let me guess—you didn’t exactly finish it?”

“Oh, we finished it,” Buck said, his grin widening. “Sort of. We didn’t know how to hammer nails properly, so by the time we were done, it was more like…a pile of wood strapped to a tree with way too much duct tape. Maddie kept saying, ‘Evan, this thing is going to fall apart if you sneeze too hard.’”

“And did it?” Tommy asked, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

“Surprisingly, no,” Buck replied proudly. “We sat in it for hours pretending it was a castle. Well again, I did. Maddie just humored me. She was probably thinking about all the ways it could collapse under us, but she stayed up there anyway. Even brought sandwiches so it felt official.”

Tommy laughed. “She is such a good sister.”

“She is,” Buck said softly, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “She’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t realize I needed her. Like that treehouse—it wasn’t much, but she made it feel like the greatest castle in the world because she knew how much it meant to me.”

Tommy’s lips curved into a fond smile, his eyes warm as he watched Buck. He shifted slightly, his hand coming up to rest on Buck’s. “I never got to do stuff like that as a kid.” His smile softened. “My dad was...not the treehouse-building type. I think the closest I got to a castle was hiding out in a broken-down shed in our backyard.”

It was one of the many things Tommy had started doing since they found their way back to each other—letting Buck in, bit by bit, into the places he used to keep hidden. Tommy had always been careful, guarded with the pieces of himself that felt too raw or broken to share. But now, it was different. With Buck, he wanted to give everything, from the smallest details of his day to the life-altering moments that shaped him. It wasn’t always easy, but with each story, each vulnerable confession, it felt like he was rebuilding something—something that Buck not only cherished but also helped him carry. And in moments like this, under the safety of their shared bubble, it felt like healing.

Buck shifted, his other hand sliding up to Tommy’s shoulder, his thumb drawing soothing circles. “Did you ever pretend it was something cooler? Like a spaceship or something?”

Tommy’s lips quirked upward, but his eyes turned distant. “I… guess I didn’t really get the chance to pretend much. I was more worried about making it through the day without pissing my dad off.” He hesitated, the weight of the admission hanging in the air between them. Then, with a small shrug, he tried to brush it off, as if it were nothing. “It’s fine, though. It just...made me good at finding the silver lining in things, I guess.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Buck’s gaze lingered on Tommy, his fingers still tracing soothing patterns against his shoulder. He studied the man beside him—not the strong, self-assured Tommy he knew in the present, but the boy he could imagine in that broken-down shed, finding solace where there was none.

Finally, Buck spoke, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “You deserved better than that. Every kid deserves a treehouse or a spaceship…or a crappy couch fort.” His thumb paused on Tommy’s shoulder for a moment, then resumed its gentle motion. “Something that feels like their own little piece of the world. A place where they can feel safe.”

Tommy turned his head, meeting Buck’s eyes, his expression unreadable for a moment before his features softened, He  gave a small, genuine smile. “I think I’ve made up for it. I mean, look at me now—lying in a blanket fort with a ridiculously good-looking firefighter who’s annoyingly good at…everything.”

Buck grinned, his cheeks dimpling. “Damn right.” He leaned in, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Tommy’s neck, his breath warm against Tommy’s skin. “For the record, you’re not too bad yourself, old man”

Tommy groaned, rolling his eyes even as a laugh escaped him. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that.”

“We didn’t agree to anything,” Buck murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Tommy’s neck.

Tommy huffed, feigning annoyance, but his arm came up to rest across Buck’s back, holding him closer, his hand brushing through Buck’s hair as Buck nestled more. Buck didn’t say anything, just tightened his arm around Tommy’s waist, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to Tommy’s collarbone, as if to silently declare, I’ll always be your safe place.

Tommy let out a quiet hum, his fingers idly tracing patterns on Buck’s back. The covers above them shifted slightly as they adjusted, both on their sides, limbs tangling as they burrowed deeper into each other.

“I could stay here forever,” Buck whispered after a beat, his words soft and sincere.

Tommy tightened his arm around him and closed his eyes. “Me too, Evan. Me too.”

They lay there for a moment longer, the silence warm and comfortable, until Tommy finally broke it. “But we really should hit the shower.”

Buck groaned, burying his face into Tommy’s chest like a petulant child. “Ugh, do we?”

“Yup,” Tommy replied, dragging the word out with playful exaggeration as he tightened his arms around Buck. “We reaallllyy do.”

[bucksboobs]

BuddieTommy in relation to Jee Yun is so funny to be honest. As a gay man with a niece that has been known to spend money I don’t have on her… Three grown, established men, who all have some experience with construction and money to burn screams treehouse the size of some tiny homes with a slide, a zip line, a climbing wall and an attached swingset. They call Michael for architectural advice and Buck binges Treehouse masters, Tommy installs a window unit, Eddie spends an entire weekend painting a mural while Tommy and Buck lovingly heckle him.

[ink-casket]

coming here because i& don't think i& have seen Dream SMP on a bah creators blog that i& remember , but who knows , i& have a memory disorder .

anyway , do you think you could do a transfem tubbo inspired alter ? doesn't have to be a fictive , but it can be if you're fine with that :]

thank you in advance for your time !

angel / oath ( she / he ) , host .

Requested pack ᯓ★

Transfem tubbo

// keep in mind headmates may not form exactly like the pack! //

Tags ;; @angelic-oath

🪦﹕BASICS . .

★ NAME !? ;;; Tubbo . . Tubs . . Tubz . . Tubbie . . Tubi . . Nyx . . Nymeri . . Vaelira . . Nerith . . Zarienne . . Velatha . . Elowen . . Nivelle . . Aeriseth . . Saelari . . Liora . . Thalwen . . Sylwen . . Selathae . . Naera . . Lirael . . Lauremirë . . Mírieloth . . Daisy . . Clover . . Tilly . . Lulu . . Poppy . . Flower . . Fauna . . Elara . . Ember . . Storm . . Hazel . . Meadows . . Buttercup . . Honeybell . . Voira . . Eris . . Kaida . . Azira . .

★ PRNS !? ;;; She/Her . . They/Them . . re/rei . . sae/saer . . rie/rhem . . sie/hir . . shy/hyr . . sie/hir . . sie/sier . . shi/zir . . ?/?s . . chi/chir . . fel/feli . . claw/claws . . ram/rams . . fawn/fawns . . stag/stags . . be/bees . . e/em . . Am/Amour . . Alo/Alom . . Ar/Fla . . Bee/Bee . . Burn/Burn . . Bomb/Bombs . . Fla/Flar . . Ig/Ni . . Ig/Nite . . In/Ferno . . Thi/Thim . . Bomb/Bombself . . ⚠️/⚠️s . . ☢️/☢️s . . ☣️/☣️s . . 💣/💣s . . 🐐/🐐s . . 🔥/🔥s

★ AGE !? ;;; 18 / late teens

★ GENDER !? ;;; TransFem , Female, Sweetheartlexiden, callagirl, Key Lime, Light Moss Green, Granite green, River Valley Femme, Goatplushic, Goatvalentinic, Bombgender, Nukegender, Firegender, FireChild, monoceros

★ ORIENTATION !? ;;; Pansexual, Bisexual, Biromantic, Panromantic, Pi, Ceteroromantic, Bifluix, Lovesexual, Loveromantic

★ SPECIES !? ;;; Goat , human, bee

★ KIN TYPE !? ;;; Tubbo from DSMP, Bee, Goat

﹒SYSTEM STUFF﹒🪽

⊏　 ROLES 　⌑ ;;; dyslexia holder, hemiplegic cluster headache holder, overseer, ADHD holder, artist, Attraction holder, auxiliary protector, auxiliary, decision holder

⊏　 SOURCE 　⌑ ;;; DSMP tubbo !

⊏　 LOCATION 　⌑ ;;; L’Manberg, Snowchester, Bee Sanctuary, Watchtower or Outpost, Workshop or Lab (making nukes), Rooftop Garden or Treehouse, War Room / Strategy Bunker

⊏　 BEHAVIOR 　⌑ ;;;

She is deeply loyal to her friends, especially Tommy, often putting their safety above her own. Willing to make hard decisions if it means protecting others for the best.

Tubbo plays the character of a hyperactive, earnest, and somewhat naïve sidekick. She is often seen following Tommy around, usually assisting him in his pranks and hijinks. Tubbo is fairly easygoing and optimistic if a tad phlegmatic, and tends to be more of a follower than a leader. She likes to do as she is told and is easy to push around, which has caused several problems for her in the past. She'll go with the flow of most things as long as they don’t directly interfere with her morals, which she sticks very close to. Tubbo hears voices in her head, and said that this is what her Twitch chat is in the canon of the SMP.

Taken from the wiki !

Tubbo can be a bit over protective, especially when it comes to her country and her child, Michael. But, Tubbo can also be very reckless and quick to action. What’s more reckless than building nukes and constantly threatening to use them?

Without someone there to keep Tubbo in check, she could end up like Wilbur or Fundy some day by completely giving up and adopting a absurdist or nihilistic view of the world. Tubbo has already put herself in harms way for seemingly no other reason than for excitement.

Taken from here !

⊏　 PERSONALITY 　⌑ ;;;

ENFJ

Tubbo (Dream SMP) is most commonly typed as 9w1 (The Peacemaker, The Mediator) in the Enneagram system. This suggests Tubbo (Dream SMP) is easygoing, agreeable, and accommodating, and is often conflict-averse and seek harmony and peace. These traits shape Tubbo (Dream SMP)'s worldview and behavioral patterns, influencing how they navigate challenges, connect with others, and pursue their goals. Understanding these traits provides insight into Tubbo (Dream SMP)'s motivations, strengths, and potential growth areas.

The Basic Fear of Tubbo (Dream SMP) is being without inner peace or harmony, which drives them to avoid certain situations or behaviors that trigger this fear. Conversely, their Core Desire is to be at peace with themselves and others, guiding their aspirations and actions in pursuit of fulfillment. This dynamic between fear and desire often shapes Tubbo (Dream SMP)'s life choices and personal development journey.

Tubbo (full name, "Tubbo_" [maiden name] or "Tubbo_Beloved" [marital name]) is the tenth member of the Dream SMP, joining on July 7, 2020 and is a major character in the Dream SMP. She was one of the original members of L'Manberg, fought on its side during the Dream Team SMP vs. L'Manberg War, served as its first Secretary of State under the Soot Administration, and supported POG2020 during the election. She acted as Jschlatt's right-hand woman under the Jschlatt Administration while spying for Pogtopia until her public execution at the Manberg Festival. After the Manberg vs Pogtopia War, she became L'Manberg's third and final president, serving until its destruction in the Doomsday War. She then founded Snowchester, and is currently one of its residents and the first person to create nuclear weapons on the server.

Taken from — Here !

Tubbo is somewhat scatterbrained but an all around loyal and good person. She knows what she can and can't do and prefers to just stay within her own boundaries. She also is very lawful, knowing where her loyalties lie, and is a poor fibber when it comes to facing authorities like Schlatt or Wilbur - even when she knows it’s the morally right thing to do. She shows a surprising capability for manipulating situations, indicating that her character is more intelligent than she typically lets on. Tubbo knows almost every glitch and exploit in Minecraft and is able to work basic and above Redstone. She is also one of the best builders on the server, which makes her a valuable asset.

Taken from the Wiki !!

⊏　 TITLES 　⌑ ;;; The beekeeper, Bee lover, she who loves Bees, Nuke lover, She who makes nukes, She who hides, The Hiden one, Nuke keeper, Flower girl, Bee girl

⊏　 FASHION 　⌑ ;;; She wears Green cottage core dresses ! Or casual clothing ! She enjoys to be comfortable yet pretty. To her fashion means a lot as it is one of the few things that makes her feel gender affirmed !

⊏　 TYPING QUIRKS 　⌑ ;;; She uses Emojis in place of some words ! She also uses a lot of exclamation points as she's very happy. She will also mis spell uncommon words (even if the body knows them as she is dyslexic). Like this ;

"👋 ! I am [name] I like 🐝 and 🌻s ! My husband is Ranboo and my son is Micheal ! I love making 💣s !"

⊏　 RELIGION 　⌑ ;;; Non religious

⊏　 SPEECH PATTERNS 　⌑ ;;; Very energetic and quick. Has a hard time slowing down, her words will often slur together. When she is alone or stimming she will making buzzing noises. It's very obvious to tell when she is front due to her quick speaking and slurred together words

🪄　 ✝︎ 　EXTRA ．  ⌅

⁑　 LIKES　 ∘ ;;; Cozy / comfortable things, Gaming, talking, friends, accepting people, Art, music, being able to be creative, her friends, safe spaces, words of affirmation. She likes to be around people who are okay with her being MTF and accept her for who she is and don't treat her differently for being trans !

⁑　 DISLIKES.　 ∘ ;;; Being ignored, being rejected for who she is, Misgendering, Arguments, being treated like an object or an thing. She doesn't like being treated like an EXACT copy of Tubbo. She has her own diffences and unique qualities that she likes and loves about herself.

⁑　 SIGN OFFS.　 ∘ ;;; -💣 . . -💣⚠️ . . -💣☣️. . -💣☢️ . . -⚠️ . . -⚠️🌻 . . -🌻🐝 . . -🐝 . . -🐝📀 . . -📀⚠️

⁑　 FAV ITEMS.　 ∘ ;;; Blankets, Sweaters, her dresses, flowers, her plushies mainly her bee one and the one she handmade of Ranboo and Tommy, headphones, her journal she uses to press flowers and note how the bees are doing, a handmade plushie of a totem of undying, a pig clay sculpture with a crown for Techno

⁑　 FAV COLOURS.　 ∘ ;;;

#606C38 , #283618, #FEFAE0, #DDA15E, #BC6C25

⁑　 FAV SEASON.　 ∘ ;;; Spring

⁑　 HOBBIES.　 ∘ ;;; Crochet, making nukes, mindless doodles, making music, role play, Outfit planning, making clothes, designing clothes. making mood boards, stim boards and pintrest boards. Journaling about her day and her bees. As well as drawing her latest ideas for weapons.

⁑　 INT.　 ∘ ;;; Other systems, Other trans girls, especially questioning or closeted ones as she loves to help others find out who they are, other Queer or disabled people/systems, people who respect boundaries, feminism (she is a feminist), system friendly non sys people, other MC intojects, her moots ! Other artists (any type)

⁑　 DNI.　 ∘ ;;; Transphobia, Homophobia, TERFs, Proshippers / pedophilia apologists / 🗺️s, Racists, xenophobes, ableists, misogynists, sexiest, Anti-plural / system-phobic, Sysmeds, Pedo, Nazis, Racists, Any form of politics as it leads to arguments and she just wants everyone to be happy. Ai "artists"

⁑　 EXTRA APPEARANCES.　 ∘ ;;; she has longer hair with handmade bee and bomb hair clips ! A bee side bag that Tommy made for her when she first came out. She loves wearing cottage core dresses, mainly green plaid. She had a flower crown of her favorite flowers all the time, and made one for Tommy as well. She has freckles all over her body, in more then just her face, mainly her arms and hands. And her back. She loves to paint her nails new colors and designs every week. She also loves doing others nails. She has a warning pin on her bag at all times just so she can show she works with dangerous things !

⁑　 EXTRA QUIRKS.　 ∘ ;;; When she is in front.

She loves to play with hoodie string pulling them back and forth, but not chewing them as it's unclean. She will try to wear dresses or cute clothes when in front, and if she is wearing a dress or skirt she will often sway back and forth with the dress. She talks very quickly which causes her speech to be slurred. She usually uses We/Us but not as a system since but because she is talking about her and Tommy (sometimes ranboo)

⁑　 HEX CODE.　 ∘ ;;; #A6B98B

⁑　 AESTHETIC.　 ∘

⁑　 FACE CLAIMS.　 ∘

( 1 . 2 . 3 )

This took us a second but I hope you enjoy it moot ! Sorry if it's not what you wanted 💔

[toms-cherry-trees]

Ash & Shadows || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: The night is long and dreary. Does the future hold hope, or is there just pain left?

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Implications of major character death, grief, angst, Tommy being and asshole and then regretting it, set after s6e6 so I had to work around that hot mess. It has some Gothic and ghostly themes

Author’s note: A CALENDAR YEAR I PROCRASTINATED THIS but I HAD to finish it so, enjoy?

The tears have long dried in your cheeks, but their saltiness lingers in your tongue. Your throat feels parched, but you cannot find it in yourself to cross the few steps that separate you from the cup of stale tea in your nightstand, nor any of the dozen abandoned beverages that litter the master bedroom. There’s whiskey with water on the mantelpiece, sitting next to some plain water, and remnants of milk with honey and cinnamon, in which you suspect Frances mixed some drops of laudanum, for you felt strangely calm after drinking it, but not enough to find sleep. The bed is a mess, proof of your restlessness, the sheets and blankets hastily pulled from the corners and wrapped tightly around you like a protective cocoon, in hopes that the comforting swaddle will keep you whole for one more night. But they do little to placate the unforgiving cold spreading through your insides, a chill sprouting from within your very soul.

The ash and soot linger on your hands, caked under your ruined nails and smeared across your raw skin. Your clothes have not been changed in days, and they smell of burnt wood and petrol, mixed with something unspeakable and revolting. The stench is rooted in your nostrils, so pervasive you taste it in your mouth, in your throat, in the depths of your lungs. It spreads through your veins and seeps into your bones, consuming your spirit in waves of black and death. You are overcome by the vile venom, and even the mere evocation of it makes you choke and heave violently. A foulness you will never be able to forget, perennially engraved in the deepest corners of your memory, alongside other grim chapters of your past. But unlike others, this has changed your life, your self, the very course of your existence. You cannot fathom how the world continues to spin and the sun to rise in the horizon after such ground shattering devastation has occurred. 

Your husband is dead, that much you know. He is dead and you are still alive and in your heart, that goes against the laws of nature. You are not meant to exist without the other. You had swore to grow old together, how could he leave you thirty years before his time? How could he leave when your children had not even learned to tie their shoes themselves yet? He had not yet commissioned the treehouse he promised them, how could he abandon them halfway through?

You should have known something was amiss. You knew your husband, better than anyone could. You had a way to read his thoughts and forestall his actions that not even his late aunt could comprehend. Only you could dissipate the fog from his troubled mind and unravel the rigmarole which composed the very foundations of his existence. He had once said, late at night, with his arm around your waist while he believed you fast asleep, that he felt like a man standing alone under a wicked thunderstorm, and you were the only one brave enough to face the tempest and come to him with an umbrella, even at the risk of your own life. But he would forever take the umbrella from your hands. Your life before his, every single time.

How could you not foresee this?

Ever since the failed assassination on Mosley, Tommy had slowly but steadily gone down a steep slope, one not even you could rescue him from. Life had never shown him mercy; every time he reached the pinnacle, a new mountain blocked his way, mightier and deadlier than the last. He had surmounted them all, not without penalty, leaving blood bathed bullets and bodies in his wake. But at last, Tommy had found his Everest. The summit taunted him, unreachable; the death of his aunt clobbered him like an avalanche, and the man he became after that didn’t hold the slightest resemblance to the man you fell in love with. You were sure that if you sat the present day Tommy before the one he used to be in 1919, they would not recognise each other.

He tried to keep you shielded from his meetings with the fascists, the rallies, the gossip and scandal. Only he knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the garden while you sat before the fireplace reading stories with your children. And only he knew about the stacks of bills being passed from hand to hand, sealing deals and pacts that promised to change the course of history. Tommy only wanted you to worry about your charities, your horses and your pretty dresses, and leave the rest of the world upon his steady shoulders.

In his mind, oblivious meant safe. For you, it felt like a lack of trust in your person. And that soon morphed into bitter resentment, never shown openly but perpetually simmering just beneath the surface, ready to erupt. Lying had always come easy to him, but it became harder when his lies were unmasked in the morning paper. How could he pledge innocence when his face showed up on the front page next to the leader of the British Union of Fascists? How could he deny his guilt, with Diana Mitford right at his tail?

How could he pretend leaving you in the dark was for the greater good?

Everything came to a breaking point when he suddenly summoned you to his study to inform you he would be departing for Canada the following day, with no clear return date and refusing to elaborate on what called him so suddenly to cross the Atlantic. The more you pressed for answers, the more he manoeuvred around them with carefully premeditated replies of vague content, half finished sentences and loose words, so unlike him that the lies unravelled on their own before your eyes. His total carelessness over the situation and the dismissal of your worries became the drop that tipped the glass. Months of carefully concealed rancour came bursting to the surface like an erupting volcano. 

You called him every name in the book, reminding him of the things you had endured for his sake over the long course of your relationship, while he could not even allow you the decency of forewarning you of such a trip or offer an acceptable explanation for such haste in departure, the acrimony in your heart even making you ask if he had special company for the journey. His impassive silence only irked you further, and you told him he could get a one way ticket to hell for all you cared, before slamming the door to his office so violently you heard a painting fall and shatter on the ground. 

The day after, you rounded the kids in the foyer for the mandatory goodbyes. He hugged them all long and tight, a rarity in itself for a man who had become so cold and withdrawn he barely spared them a glance in the mornings over his newspaper. And then he kneeled before Charlie and placed a brand new gold pocket watch in the boy’s little hands. Your husband said men wore pocket watches and he would be the man of the house now. The boy only stared back, perplexed, and nodded once silently before pocketing the precious object with utmost care.

You remained irate, arms crossed over your chest, fingers drumming on your arm impatiently. It was hard to tell you apart from an enraged bull staring at a red cloth. A part of you felt like a petulant child, but after so many years of marriage and everything you had silently withstood for him, you could no longer hide the hurt and disappointment, feelings far too familiar that you had grown accustomed to conceal. You only allowed him a brief goodbye, turning your face away when he tried to kiss your lips, presenting your cheek instead. He didn’t protest, his lips lingering on your skin longer than they had done in years, his gloved hand cradling the back of your neck and playing with your hair. His free arm circled your waist and pulled you close, face moving to rest in the crook of your neck as he inhaled deeply, as if committing the scent of your body to memory.

A strange sense of foreboding filled you, but you forced it out of your mind. 

If you had known what the future held ahead, you would have jumped into his arms, engraving in your memory every detail of himself; the feeling of his hands on your waist, the timbre of his voice. Traced every nook and cranny of his face with your fingertips, over and over until you could forever recall it. You would have kissed those lips until they bled, and with the same ferocity, you would have screamed and clawed and made the windows rattle and the ground shake, demanding an explanation. Demanding to know why.

The days passed, and the worry began to gnaw at your chest. The hotel address he gave you didn’t exist, nor did the phone number which he scribbled down hastily seconds before crossing the threshold, only after you demanded to have a way to contact him should an emergency arise with the kids. The kids. Not you. Over his shoulder, as if an afterthought, he said he would call. After the first week of silence you had a landline installed outside your bedroom, and you would stare incessantly at the apparatus, willing it to ring. One time you heard the faint ringing in the study from the entrance door, and you rushed to it with such haste you vaulted over a sofa and snapped your high heel off. But it only turned out to be Ada, checking in on you. Ever since that day, everyone seemed to grow suspiciously closer to you. Calls and visits and days out. Ada inviting you to London and looking after the kids to give you a day off. Curly and Charlie coming often to help the kids tame their new ponies. Arthur would come too, far too often to be normal, and he would sit across from you in the living room, nursing a whiskey in his hand and poorly attempting small talk, always looking ready to be sick and evading your gaze.

Their pitiful stares didn’t go unnoticed, nor did some carefully chosen words, such as how your kids would always be looked after and provided for in the family, how they would always be there for you and would support whatever you chose to do with your life. Praising your strength, offering their support, always looking away or changing the subject when you asked if your husband had called them. The thinly veiled edge of desperation in your voice seemed to stir something within them, and redoubled their efforts in consoling you for something you didn’t yet know.

The truth laid bare before your very eyes, just an inch out of reach, concealed just enough to keep you in the dark with confusing glimpses of the life ahead.

But the passive games and the uncertainty came to an abrupt halt one bright sunny morning, the skies blue and clear like Tommy’s eyes and a gentle breeze fanning over the gardens. You told the nannies to prepare the kids for a picnic in the meadow, and helped Frances set up a plentiful food basket. But just before you could set foot out, a car stopped in the driveway. The frantic knocking on the door and the slurred screaming had you fearfully peeking out through the draperies, your finger readied on the trigger of a gun, only to see Arthur slumped against one of the columns of the entrance, calling out your name. Before he could say another word, you knew he had relapsed back into the opium, acquired from who knows where. Even from afar, he reeked of alcohol and smoke, face bloated and eyes bloodshot and swollen. He staggered forward, nearly toppling over you before falling to his knees, his face distorted in anguish. You tried to pull him up, to coax some sort of explanation out of him, anything to placate the worry crawling up your chest.

A million possible scenarios played in your head, yet not even ten lives could have prepared you for the simple words that escaped his mouth.

“Tommy is dead”

From that point on, memories become elusive. Only fleeting moments remain. You recall your own hands, hands meant to nurture, caress and comfort; hands that wiped tears, stroked hairs and tickled bellies, your kind and gentle hands gripping Arthur’s coat lapels and pulling on him with such force he came back to his feet, startled. You remember shaking him violently, teeth gritted and vision blurred with hot tears, your mascara running down your cheeks. Your lips parted to scream, but you cannot recall what words came out of your mouth. Arthur tried to pry your hands open and take some distance, but then you slapped him across the face. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was a punch. Or maybe a detail that never happened, later added by your wrecked mind. Because you hoped that if you screamed and punched and tore the world to pieces you would awaken from that nightmare.

You saw the smoke long before the car reached the side road. The perfume of the blooming flowers could not mask the wafting aroma of charred wood, petrol and burnt fabrics, with something else you could not quite pinpoint, but smelled vile and pernicious. A cheerful meadow stretched out before you, bright green dotted with white and yellow spreading as far as the eye reached across gentle hills. And amidst all, a scorched patch of land, and a pile of still smouldering debris, wisps of acrid poison swirling in the docile spring breeze. 

You leapt towards the vardo’s remains, but Arthur restrained you, slender but firm arms circled tight around your waist as he attempted to comfort you; as if there could be any comfort for you in that moment and place. You fought him with tooth and nail, scratching and biting and kicking like a frenzied beast, cursing his name, his bloodline and his entire existence. All he did back was shush you, a hand pressed to your abdomen, his arm around your chest as your knees gave and you collapsed into him, agonising wails wracking your to your core.

You cried out for Tommy, but only death called back.

In time, the smoke cleared and the pyre cooled, allowing you a clear view of the massacre before your very eyes. Like the leftovers of a bonfire, wood so thoroughly charred it disintegrated on the hand, mixed with scalding pieces of metal and leftover rags that once were curtains and bedding. You fell to your knees, frantic fingers digging at the ash and earth bare handed, soot and dust clinging to your sweat doused skin, getting in your eyes, your nose, your mouth. Your fingers ached and your skin reddened and blistered in the heat, but you felt nothing, nothing but the overcoming grief coiling around your heart, constricting your throat and freezing the blood in your veins. Your tears sizzled as they fell on the ground. You dug and dug, panicked sobs reverberating in the emptiness of the meadow, your pain a sharp contrast with the chirping of the blackbirds on the branches. 

You could find but only a few scarce belongings that survived the conflagration. A couple of gold sleeve garters. His pocket watch, the mechanism somehow still working. The frames of his reading glasses, the crystals having been lost to the heat. No matter how deep you dug, his wedding ring was nowhere to be found. And everything else had turned to ash and dust.

Ashes of the vardo. 

Ashes of your memories together.

Ashes of the man.

The love of your life swept away by the wind.

~

You no longer know if it’s day or night. The heavy drapes are closed, and only a few dying embers remain in the hearth. The room is cold, more than usual, robbed from the warmth of fire and the warmth of love. Time passess differently when grief has its clutches around you. Every second is too slow, yet every day moves by too fast. Three days have swept by, maybe four, plus the month of faked departure in which he roamed the fields while you believed him across the pond. His scent is fading from the pillows, from his clothes, from your memory. You sprayed some of his cologne on your wrists but it's not the same because it is not on his skin. It is not mixed with leather, ink and gunpowder. It is not him.

You already fear you are forgetting the right colour of Tommy’s eyes, the various hues mixing in your mind but none seems quite right. Are they the colour of the sky on a bright summer day? The tranquil sea surrounding the ship that took you to your honeymoon on the continent? Do they match the aquamarines from the demi parure he gifted you on your birthday, just because he said their colour suited your skin?

No. No do. Did. Because his eyes are no more. His bright eyes, his rare smiles, his handsome face, his protective hands and everything in between are no more. They are just ash and dust, a pile abandoned in the middle of an open field being swept by the wind and rain.

Floorboards creak on the hallway, but it could be the scurrying maids as much as the wandering spirits that populate your home, souls rooted in the land due to unfinished businesses from their past lives, acting as owner and keepers of a place where you are but a temporary guest. A door slams shut somewhere in the house, and the windows creak and rattle under the assault of the brewing tempest. The room grows icier, if possible, your breath rising in puffs of white. Your fingers feel stiff, achingly clutching onto an old pocket watch. Even the rings in your hands have turned to ice.

You curl tighter into yourself, if possible, your palms pressed to your face to warm your freezing nose and lips. Sleep threatens to take you, but you fight it with all your might, for the only place worse than life right now, is inside your head. The nightmares have chased you ever since that day, each one more horrifying than the last. But the body beats the mind, and your eyelids, heavy as lead, fall shut, your consciousness slipping away in waves.

You cannot be sure how long you slept, or if you did at all, when something startles you into attention. You sit up abruptly, heart beating frenziedly in your chest. The room is pitch dark, and for a moment you are disoriented, unsure of where you are. It takes long seconds for you to notice there’s a body next to yours, and a heavy, warm hand is pressed against your back to support you.

When you turn your head, the scream falls from your lips involuntarily, and you are positive your heart stops briefly. He looks so well, so perfectly well and common, so alive. Your hands are on his face, on his neck, running down his chest and arms as your mind struggles to come to terms with the image in front of your eyes.

“Tommy?”

Shrouded in black, his hair damp and  tousled, and perfectly unharmed. As if he were just returning from a session in Parliament. His hand slides up your body, from your back to your shoulder, then your neck and up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your tear streaked cheek. You lean instinctively against his touch; the warmth from his palm spreads through your skin like a soothing balm. It feels safe; it feels like home, like the place where you belong. 

His free arms circles your waist and pulls you into him, your head tucked between his chin and shoulder and your body pulled onto his lap. Both of your arms wrap tightly around his middle, fearing that if you let go, he would disappear like smoke, forever this time.

“Tommy? Tommy, what happened? Where have you been?” Tears brim again in your eyes, and the coil tightens around your throat “I…I don’t understand. Arthur said that you were…that you were” The word, that word, cannot make it past the knot. The word you so dreaded to accept. “I saw the ashes in the meadow”

He says nothing, nothing besides a hum of acknowledgement at your words. His thumb brushes back and forth against your cheekbone, the other hand tracing lines up and down the length of your spine, causing your belly to flutter. You are confused, terribly so, your thoughts reeling with the need for answers. But Tommy, as usual, offers none, and you don’t really want to spoil the moment, not when your heart is finally at peace after the terrible weeks you’ve endured.

The embrace goes on forever, none of you making effort to move or speak. Every now and then you feel his lips brush against your forehead, or his nose bury in your hair and inhale deeply, drowning himself in your scent. The storm howls outside, windows rattling with the strength of the wind, the glasses mercilessly pelted by ferocious raindrops. By now, the children would usually be awake and crowding your bed, seeking safety under your blankets. But peacefulness reigns their slumber that night, and you are grateful for it. You desperately need this moment alone with your husband.

His head tilts suddenly, just enough to place a gentle kiss against your temple, then his lips brush against the shell of your ear

“I am sorry” His voice is raspy and worn, as if it has not been used in quite some time “For everything. For keeping you in the dark, for not trusting your strength. For everything I put you through” His embrace around you tightens into an almost painful grip, as if he wishes to fuse his body into yours “You are fierce. And strong. The strongest woman I know. You can overcome anything, nothing could tear you down”

For some reason, those words do not sit right with you. They feel ominous, almost like a forever goodbye. You try to crane your neck to get a better look at his face, to read his expression, but he resists, hidden in the curve of your neck. Your heartbeat quickens in panic.

“I am only strong when I have you by my side. I need you, Tommy. These past days have ruined me. I cannot tread upon an earth you do not exist in.” Your fingers dig on the fabric of his coat, and for the first time you notice his clothes are dampened and smell faintly of wet soil and smoke.

Tommy chuckles, the familiar sound reverberating inside your ribs. He shifts again and his lips are against your forehead, continuing to refuse you a clear glimpse of his face.

“You were strong when I met you. You were strong when I tried to push you away for your own safety. And I know you will continue to be. For the family, for our children. They need you. You are their whole world”

Again those words, those threats of a future in which he had no place. The tears come back with renewed strength, blurring your vision and choking the words in your mouth, but you manage to force them. You cannot leave anything unsaid, not if he’s planning to abandon you once more.

“They need their father too” You protest “Please, Tommy. You can’t walk away again. Not when you are back in my arms” Your grip tightened to accentuate your words “I lost you once, I cannot do this again. Please don’t make me do this again Tommy. If you leave, you might as well kill me now, and spare me such misery”

“I can’t stay” The words cut like blades through your heart and lungs, and for a moment, you can’t remember how to breathe “I’ve got to go, but I promise you, I will always be with you. I’ll never leave your side, whether you can see me or not. I will always be your husband, in this life and the next” You cannot be sure, but he seems to be holding back sobs as well “So many things went wrong. So many mistakes that cannot be fixed. What’s done cannot be undone” Those words do not seem directed to you, but rather thoughts spoken out loud, an airing of frustrations he’s kept bottled up.

You pull away from him, so fiercely not even his strength can keep you still. Your hands cup his cheeks and pull him down until his forehead is against yours. You can barely discern his features in the darkness of the bedroom, so you use your fingers to gently trace the slope of his nose, the sharpness of the jaw, the softness of his lips. His breath fans over your face; he smells all over of nature, of dirt, of open fields and pine woods. 

“There is nothing that cannot be undone. Do you hear me? Nothing. Nothing that we can’t work out together” You can barely contain your desperation “You are Thomas Shelby. You can pull down the moon if you desire; you could bend the King to your will. How can you not fix whatever troubles you?”

His hands envelop yours, fingers gently prying yours away; but instead of dropping them, he cradles them gently, bringing them up to his lips to press tender kisses against your knuckles. His lips linger against your wedding ring until the metal warms.

“Not everything is fixable, my love. There are things not even I can undo. Some mistakes are permanent. I tried, tried my whole life, but I am not God, not yet” He pulls you into his chest again, and pulls the blankets around you “But you don’t need to worry about that now. The hour is late and the sun will soon be up. You need to rest, my sweet dove. Sleep and dream; I will be with you”

You wanted to protest, to pull away, to not let him finish things like that. But you suddenly felt terribly exhausted, as if the last days had dropped on top of you with the weight of boulders, and his arms were so comforting. He gently rocked you both back and forth, a hand on the back of your head and the other on your back. The last thing you remember is Tommy murmuring sweet words of love in your ear. You cannot remember them exactly, but you fell asleep with a smile on your lips.

The next morning you awake tucked in bed, buried between pillows and blankets and wearing a clean nightgown. You sigh contently and stretch your arm to the side, towards Tommy’s side, but find it to be cold and empty, feeling something powdery between your fingers.

Your eyes shoot open, sitting so abruptly you see spots dancing in your vision. The room is bathed in sunlight, all the curtains drawn back. Outside there’s a perfect spring morning, and you hear the dogs barking and the gardeners going about their duties. Once your eyes adjust to the brightness, you discover that the powdery thing on the mattress appears to be ash, or dirt, you are not quite sure. The sheets are stained with it, and when you stand from the bed, you find a trail of residue all the way to the door. Upon inspection, you notice some of it has been left on the door handle, as if someone grabbed it with dirty hands.

The door nearly slams on your face as Frances pushes it open, carrying a breakfast tray. You both jump with a startle, but she manages to keep her wits enough to not drop the tray at your feet

“That was quite a scare you gave me there, Mrs. Shelby. But it’s wonderful to see you at last out of bed” Frances says, as she leaves the tray on a small table with two chairs “The nanny has taken the children to the stables, so you have a quiet morning ahead of you”

You reach out to pick your robe, your thoughts still filled with the encounter of the previous night. You want to ask Frances, but choose not to, not wishing to be taken as a madwoman. What would she say if you told her your dead husband had slept in your bed the previous night? So you play ignorance, and sit before the table, your stomach rumbling at the sight of buttered toast

“That’s good, but don’t let them out for too long. It ought to be quite muddy and damp outside from the storm, and I don’t want them getting sick”

Your fingers are curled around the steaming teacup when she speaks again.

“Storm? There was no storm, Mrs. Shelby. I was up quite late and the skies were clear, although it was a moonless night, so everything was quite dark”

The teacup stops midair, and a cold shiver runs down your spine, goosebumps covering your flesh. You had heard the wind, the rain, felt the rattling of the windowpanes and the water running down the pipes. Then, you notice a glint on your ring finger. A glint that was not there the night before.

You now wear two wedding bands. One the perfect size, one a few too big. And outside your window, the blackbirds begin to sing.

[exhaustedpirate]

if yall haven't read it by now, go read @perfectlysunny02's "half grown" au! it's a 911 x swat crossover where deacon adopts baby buck and it's got me having thoughts of childhood best friends evan and tommy, so i'm gonna spill them here, call it "almost grown: the sequel" (heads up for val rocker hate):

tommy is donovan and val's kid, probably a year or two older than evan and his dad's double (bc ofc);

while still married to each other, val kept tommy away from the swat people and especially evan and deacon (for reasons sunny wrote and i love the juicy drama);

rocker ends up divorcing val because her comments get nastier and nastier and he gets the better end of the custody agreement;

tommy and evan grow closer as friends on a day where they're both at the swat hq and tommy gets evan talking a lot;

they grow up and grow closer, best friends, inseparable, despite val's comments and dislikes, rocker loves their friendship;

around 15 years old, their school friends start talking first kisses and evan has only kissed a girl in middle school, tommy hasn't kissed anyone so they get teased (not cruel);

while hanging out, evan brings up the kiss thing to tommy and suggests that they should kiss, they trust each other and it would just be for experience and shit, tommy agrees (tries to play it cool);

they kiss at the treehouse deacon built with rocker's help as well as the boys when it became very clear that evan loved climbing trees;

the kiss is soft, just their lips pressing but they go back for seconds, thirds, fourths, before they pull away;

evan's heart is pounding against his chest, not an unfamiliar sensation (taylor's kiss - yes i'm reusing names, it's symbolic - had felt the same) and he holds his breath as he looks at tommy;

tommy is looking everywhere in evan's face except his eyes, an unreadable expression in his face, not something evan is used to, he is used to tommy's smiles and laughs and yapping sessions, not silent and stone faced tommy;

"what did you think?" evan asks and is proud of his steady voice, there is a lot happening behind tommy's eyes, he may be trying to hide it but they've known each other for basically a decade and he wants to ask so many questions;

looking away, tommy shrugs "it was okay" his voice lackluster and evan nods through the feeling of his heart breaking in his chest "yeah, okay" "maybe we should keep it to ourselves" "yeah, okay" "i'm gonna go home" "hmm, see you tomorrow?" "yeah, okay"

what evan doesn't know is that tommy's heart had hammered against his chest at the feel of evan's lips, he doesn't know the feeling of rightness that filled him at the kiss;

what evan doesn't know is that, despite tommy's desire to kiss evan again, to kiss him always, his mother's voice screamed in his head, yelling, shouting, murmuring, whispering words full of hate, full of bigotry and ignorance and tommy didn't want that to happen to evan, didn't want him to feel like he was wrong, like he was broken;

what evan doesn't know is that tommy broke his own heart and what tommy doesn't know is that evan's heart broke with his.

this went on a lot harder that i was expecting...i don't think i'll write this for now unless it's like plot points like this and i'll bow to sunny's masterpiece that you should read right now!

[canines-alter-creation]

if you're still doing the number thing,, maybe number 26?

Yet another one of our littles! Very few of them have registered bots, but he does! If you need a regressor to hang out or make sure you get care when sick, this is your guy.

> Name(s): Toms, Tommy

> Pronoun(s): he, paw, wag, chomp, bite

> Age: 6-14

> Gender: masc, kinda is a little kid and doesn’t get gender yet

> Sexuality: is a child n/a

> Role: regressor, little, middle

> Source: some sort of c!tommyinnit, raccoon-esque, but a baby

> Faceclaims:

> Sign-offs: 🦝

> Song theme:

> Front triggers(pos/neg/neu):

+ Needing to relax, feeling like a kid, child media, caretaking sourcemates

/ regression media, sourcemates, early source

- being very stressed out, needing to relax and having no other option, bad dreams, being sick

> Likes/dislikes:

+ stuffed animals, raccoon, wreaking havoc, chewing on things

- being told no, being around strangers, adult things

> Personality: Is a literal child, is very grumpy but in a little kid way. Loves his dad and loves following around his big brothers. He doesn’t like to be alone, and will frequently seek out the comfort of either an item or a person he knows and trusts. 

> Ways they do their role: is a relaxing/comforting alter for the body, being able to regress and destress just by existing. Will especially front if the body is sick so that we can just relax and allow other alters to take care of us without interference. 

> Inner world occupation or behavior: Lives with Philza in his treehouse, visits Technoblade frequently. Loves to be around his family and those he loves, due to Phil being very busy and his house being somewhat dangerous, Toms is more frequently found at the daycare in inner, where many of our littles go to be taken care of and watched after. 

> Possible outerworld behavior: Is a child and behaves as such, likes to chew on our toys and play games on our phone.

[azrielgreen]

chapter twentyyyy

what are the chances we could get a tiny nasty preview 👀 as a treat

SLIM preview!!! Coming out this Saturday - Chapter Twenty of Scorpio Skies ✨🦂🌃✨

Nobody’s ever gonna love you like I tried to. Maybe it’s true. Except it’s not. Because Billy loved him better right away, more than Steve knew he ever could be loved. For all Robin is his best friend, she’s not like Steve, has no crack in her centre. Billy does. They share it, they understand. Billy saw Steve’s. The splits. He wrapped them. He saw and he loved Steve from the third day, that’s what he said. Whores don’t get good things. That had stayed with Steve for a long time. He’d only ever been with Tommy and there was power in destroying that fidelity, even post breakup. Sex became a scarlet letter, it became control. Whore. Except not with Billy. And now not even with Eddie. ‘It’s not OK,’ he says with shocking calm, looks around. This place. This Treehouse. ‘You know what I only just noticed?’ Eddie slips off his jacket, undoes his shirt. ‘What?’ ‘There are no mirrors here.’ ‘There’s a—’ ‘No, I know. Your stupid little shaving mirror on the windowsill in the bathroom, but nowhere else. Not on the walls, nothing.’ Eddie is maddeningly impassive, watching Steve like he knows everything. Barefoot in jeans, he’s shirtless now, but doesn’t undress more than that. I want to fight, Steve had said. ‘Where’s all your mirrors, Eddie?’

[cecilyv]

⭐⭐⭐

Oh, you didn't make this easy on me, did you?

Okay, I'll talk about one of my favorite lines in Pegasus Rising that's there for character/relationship/world building but isn't something that's going to pop. It's the final line in the passage below (bolded)

Karen’s going over some last minute energy readings with Evan as Hen suits up for today’s gate mission. She keeps looking up every minute or so, tracking Hen’s progress. He finishes checking his P90 and the strap on his knife and wanders over. “You ever want to come with us, you’re welcome.” She cracks a smile. “You sound like you’re inviting me over to play after school.” He nods seriously. “My mom has the best cookies, and my backyard has the best treehouse.” Neither one of those things had been true, and he’d avoided ever inviting a friend over after school, but that’s not the point. She grins appreciatively. “Thank you, but no. I like my feet here in Atlantis, not running all over the galaxy. Besides, we have a deal.” She looks over at Hen with a soft smile, an echo of a hundred conversations, negotiations, that got them here.

Because we write in Tommy's pov, we don't have many opportunities to focus on Karen or Hen, or their relationship. It's the background -- something that's been there since he met them, that's just part of who they are. And though as viewers of the show, we've watched their problems and fights and negotiations, we don't get to read that in the story.

I wanted to bring that into this fic, have that dynamic be acknowledged, without spending a lot of time trying to shoehorn a scene that's about it into there.

Thus, this line -- which I love? I like how it turned out. For me, it does exactly what I wanted it to do -- shows that Tommy sees them, sees the relationship, acknowledges it and the work that went into it, and gives the reader information about them without it being too in your face (well, I hope anyway).